A hunted look stole into the dull eyes, and after John had
departed with blustering directions as to Tony's welfare, she
crept to his bedside timidly.

"Tony," she said,--"Tony, you are very sick."

An inarticulate growl was the only response.

"Tony, you ought to see the priest; you mustn't go any longer
without taking the sacrament."

The growl deepened into words.

"Don't want any priest; you 're always after some snivelling old
woman's fuss. You and Mrs. Murphy go on with your church; it
won't make YOU any better."

She shivered under this parting shot, and crept back into the
shop. Still the priest came next day.

She followed him in to the bedside and knelt timidly.

"Tony," she whispered, "here's Father Leblanc."

Tony was too languid to curse out loud; he only expressed his
hate in a toss of the black beard and shaggy mane.

"Tony," she said nervously, "won't you do it now? It won't take
long, and it will be better for you when you go--Oh, Tony,
don't--don't laugh. Please, Tony, here's the priest."